


Don't Stop Me Now (A Tragedy in Three Acts)

by Writcraft



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, First Time, Hand Jobs, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-01-30 21:21:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12661653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: Being gay in the seventies isn't easy, coming out is hard to do and love is complicated, messy and unexpected. When Sirius Black comes out to James Potter it serves to fuel the embers of a fire that's been burning between them for years.





	Don't Stop Me Now (A Tragedy in Three Acts)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the wonderful Dig for running this fest. Also thank you to the prompter who gave me so much inspiration for this story. I’m so sorry I deviated a little from the prompt (in particular the 'preferring women' bit) but I hope you still enjoy the story and I captured the spirit of the prompt. There are several pieces of music referenced in this story which are credited within the fic and they are all songs of the era that have relevance to LGBT communities. Thank you so much to aibidil for beta reading <333

_tonight I'm gonna have myself a real good time_  
_I feel alive and the world it's turning inside out - yeah!_  
_I'm floating around in ecstasy_  
_so don't stop me now don't stop me_  
_'cause I'm having a good time having a good time_

Queen – Don’t Stop Me Now (1978)

**ACT ONE. AUGUST 1978.**

 _read how disgusting we are in the press_  
_The Telegraph, People and Sunday Express_  
_molesters of children, corruptors of youth_  
_it's there in the paper, it must be the truth_  
_sing if you’re glad to be gay_  
_sing if you’re happy that way_  


\- Tom Robinson Band, Glad to be Gay (1978)

“I can’t believe your parents bought this.” Sirius looks around the small, cosy flat. Nestled in the roof’s crevice above Gambol and Japes, its tiny windows let in the warm glow of the setting summer sun, as the crowds shopping in Diagon Alley move beneath them. Sirius opens a window and sticks his head out, waving to someone he recognises from Hogwarts. “Oi! Credence!”

He gets a wave, a laugh, and a wink. It makes Sirius’s stomach flip and he breathes in the summer air. It’s one of those long, hot summers and the air around the flat hums with restless energy and the distant beats of up-tempo music from the magical speakers dotted around the place. London in the summer is sticky and crowded, full to bursting with Muggle tourists and bustling pubs whose patrons spill out onto the streets. Sirius and James have been everywhere. Pints in rickety pubs in Covent Garden and Soho, a decadent night of champagne and fine wine in one of those posh bars on the Square Mile frequented by bankers in slick suits, and their amazing lost weekend when they huddled together in a small tent and got off their heads on magic mushrooms at Glastonbury.

James drops onto the sofa and puts his feet up, crossing them at the ankle. He sends sparks into the air with his wand and lets out a _whoop_. “It makes them happy. They said I can’t just move out of school and straight in with Lily. Plenty of time for that, they reckon.”

Sirius doesn’t like feeling like an afterthought, but he swallows back the wave of jealousy that claws through him. “They’re right. You don’t want marriage and kids just yet. Not until you’ve had some fun first.”

James shrugs. “Maybe. Anyway, keeps them quiet for a bit. Besides, Lils can come and stay here. No interruptions. Might have to put ties on the door or something.”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “I’ll just go out. I don’t want to listen to you two doing whatever it is you do together.”

James laughs. “You need a nice witch of your own.”

Sirius pulls a face because James clearly hasn’t been paying attention. Most people know by now, but James is still oblivious as ever. Sirius should have told him before they moved in together, perhaps. About the whole liking cock thing. Some people are dicks about it, after all. 

“Not sure about that, mate.”

James sits up and he points his wand at Sirius, a lazy smile on his face. Bloody Jamie. He’s so handsome. All shaggy tufts of hair and eyes that turn Sirius’s heart inside out. Sirius has been in love with him for longer than he cares to remember. 

“What’s going on with you? There was all that stuff with Eloise Bulstrode, then that just fizzled out, and don’t get me started on Hannah Langley’s broken heart.”

Sirius grabs a bottle of lukewarm fizz. It’s not the posh stuff but then Sirius doesn’t exactly have access to the kind of money he used to. It’s going to have to do. James should be thankful it’s not Babycham. 

“Probably something we should talk about, Jamie.” Sirius unwraps the foil around the neck of the bottle and sends the cork flying into the air, laughing when the liquid spills over the rim of the bottle and gets his trousers and shirt damp.

“Got any glasses?” James knows they haven’t. They have two plates, two mugs, and some ham, cheese, and bread in the pantry. They’ve also got two bottles of Firewhisky, some elvish mead, and a couple of bottles of the cheap Muggle fizz Sirius picked up as a surprise. It’s all about priorities. 

“Of course. Nothing but the best for us.” Sirius Summons the mugs and pours some fizz into each, before handing one to James. He takes a sip with his little finger sticking out like his mother used to make them do with delicate china cups of tea. Proper posh. James’s mug has a picture of a stag on one side and it says _Prongs_ on the other. A gift from Moony to say _happy housewarming_. Sirius has one too with a black dog on the side, lolling its tongue and grinning at some unseen camera. He tries not to wince at the fact Moony sent mugs instead of joining them for their first night and swallows back a peculiar ache in his chest.

“Cheers.” James tips his mug towards Sirius and takes a sip. “What’s this big chat about, then?”

“Oh.” Sirius takes a healthy gulp of his wine. Dutch courage and all that. “Witches. Not my thing.”

“What?” James eyes Sirius and laughs, shaking his head. “Give over. Everyone likes witches, unless you’re some kind of –” 

He stops.

Sirius raises his eyebrows at James. “Some kind of _what_? Queer?”

James frowns and then he shakes his head. “No. I wasn’t going to say that.”

“You were.” Sirius puts his legs over the armchair and throws back the rest of the fizz, pouring another mug. He hopes James can’t see how much his hand shakes. “Got it in one. Bingo. _Ding, ding, ding_.”

“Padfoot…” James’s voice is low, and he has the decency to sound contrite.

“Fuck it, J. Let’s just get pissed.” Sirius takes a breath, his heart hammering in his chest. “I’ll try not to put the moves on you later. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not bloody _worried_ , you tit.” James sounds angry now. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because.” Sirius plucks up the nerve to glance at James. He doesn’t look disgusted. More confused. “You remember that Muggle band we went to see, don’t you?”

“Tom Robinson Band?” James nods.

“Well.” Sirius looks away. He hasn’t stopped thinking about the rage in the singer’s voice since that night, on the cusp of summer when they found themselves in a tiny bar packed and hot with people crowding close to the stage. “Then you know what people think about it.”

James holds Sirius’s gaze. There’s a moment when the air between them gets too thick to breathe. “Not me.”

“Okay.” Sirius sends the bottle over to James with a flick of his wand. “Still want to live with me?”

James rolls his eyes. He moves over to Sirius and pulls him to his feet. He wraps Sirius in a hug and they breathe one another in, their hearts pounding together in unison.

“Daft sod,” James says.

“Mmm,” Sirius agrees. He holds on tighter and he can’t help but notice it’s longer than usual before James moves away, a tinge of pink in his cheeks.

*

James always gets like this when he drinks. Handsy and all over the place. He stretches his arms out and hollers at the sky.

“Is anybody out there?”

His voice echoes and the sky, unsurprisingly, doesn’t answer back.

Sirius takes a swig from the bottle of wine and watches the stars. Tiny, pinpoint dots on a blanket of midnight blue. He looks for his namesake and finds it, shining brighter than the rest. He puffs his chest out and swings an arm across James’s shoulder. “Where to next?”

“No idea.” James veers off the path and nods towards the woodland area a mile or so from their new flat. “Fancy it?”

Sirius isn’t sure he does, but he doesn’t want to act like he’s scared or something soft.

“Always.” 

He follows James deep into the woods until they reach a clearing. They collapse onto the ground, stretching their robes over the leaves. It doesn’t mitigate the damp from the ground, which still seeps through the cloth.

“How’s Lily?” It’s been weird with James since his persistence with Lily finally started paying off. 

“Good.” James gets his _Lily smile_ and tips his face into the moonlight. “Think we might get somewhere together next year.”

Sirius swallows. _Might get somewhere_ means no more Sirius and James living together. No more scorching summers and hours sitting up until sunrise just because they have everything to talk about when life’s too short for sleeping. 

“We only just got the flat.”

James turns to look at Sirius and gives him a grin. “Don’t worry. I’m not leaving you just yet. Won’t be for another year I reckon. At least.”

“I’ll give Peter your room.” Sirius stretches and takes another swig of the booze. It burns as it travels down his throat. “See how you like that.”

“Or Moony.” James sounds hesitant and Sirius pulls a face.

“Maybe not.”

“Hmm.” James makes a rustling sound and Sirius knows without opening his eyes he’s being stared at. “What went on there, anyway?”

“Not a lot.” Sirius rubs his head. The alcohol is making the world spin a bit and the last thing he needs is an interrogation about Remus. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Okay.” James doesn’t sound like it’s okay. He takes a breath, like he’s debating saying something. “Did you and he ever...you know?”

Sirius opens his eyes and tips his head to look at James. He can see James’s eyelashes. He’s close enough that the scent of wine-warm breath catches on his nostrils. When did that happen? One minute he’s staring at the stars and the next it’s James, close enough to kiss and framed by the shadows and the light from the moon. 

“I don’t mind telling you my secrets, but I won’t tell you his. If you want to know about it, ask him.”

James huffs out a breath. “ _Really?_ ”

Sirius lets out a groan. “I didn’t say a word. You’re going to get me mauled if you keep on like this.”

“As if Moony would maul you,” James scoffs.

“He bloody might.” Sirius sighs. “Just…don’t push. Not with Moony and definitely not about me.”

“Alright.” James pauses. He looks put out. “Why him?”

Sirius stares at James. “Who else?”

“Me?” James shrugs. The pink tinge in his cheeks is back.

Sirius swallows. “Because you’re _straight_. Famously in love with Lily Evans, as if anyone needed a reminder.”

James swallows. “And if I wasn’t?”

“Straight or in love with Lily?” Sirius snorts. “Come on. Don’t do this.”

“People like both, don’t they?” James runs his tongue over his lips. “I could like both.”

“You could, but you don’t.” Sirius’s heart races and he looks at James. James’s lips shine in the moonlight and he looks as serious as Sirius has ever seen him. “Idiot. You and Lily, you’re love’s young dream. You don’t want some bloke groping your arse and sucking your cock. You’re always telling me how _pretty_ she smells. Blokes smell like socks.”

James bursts out laughing. “They don’t.”

“No? Had many, have you?” Sirius grins at James.

“Have _you_?” James’s eyes widen. He presses close to Sirius and buries his nose in the crook of his neck. He breathes in. It tickles and it’s making Sirius half-hard. “You don’t smell like socks.”

“That’s because the wine masks it.” Sirius nudges James away. “Get off, will you? You’re a horrible drunk.”

“It’s that patchy stuff you like. That and cigarettes.”

“Patchouli,” Sirius murmurs. “It’s called cologne. Try it sometime.”

“What do I smell like?” James is nothing if not persistent.

Sirius rolls his eyes and leans in to sniff at James’s neck. He breathes out, because James definitely doesn’t smell like socks. He smells like rich leather, wine, and the hazy summer midnight air. He smells like home. Everything in Sirius’s body is attuned to James. It always has been. There’s something so primal about attraction. About testosterone-fuelled kisses and the heady _thump_ of a heart pumping blood to all the right places. He pulls back before he can place a kiss on the spot where James’s pulse skips and jumps against his skin.

“Socks.”

“Liar.” James laughs and he rolls onto his back. He points at the sky. “Which one’s yours.”

“You know which one.” Sirius points, nevertheless. They do this all the time. Particularly when James is drunk. Damp grass and stargazing. It’s more than Sirius does with anyone else these days. Peter isn’t the stargazing sort and he’s been busy lately. Remus is…well. Remus isn’t one for kissing under the light of the moon for obvious reasons.

James makes an irritated noise when he picks up the bottle. He tips it upside down and a couple of drops of sweet wine land on Sirius’s lips. He licks them off and watches James.

“We’re out of booze.”

“Plenty more back at the flat.”

“Come on, then.” James tugs Sirius to his feet and if their hands touch for longer than usual Sirius just puts it down to their strange chat and the wine.

To think anything else would be madness.

*

“Padfoot?”

“I’m asleep.” Sirius isn’t. He’s been lying awake staring at the ceiling ever since he and James got back to the flat and polished off another bottle of the cheap sparkling wine. 

“Liar.” The bed dips as James sits on the edge. He doesn’t speak for a long time as the minutes stretch between them. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“About being _queer_?” Sirius can’t help it. He knows James didn’t mean to hurt him – didn’t know – but he also knows James only just caught himself from finishing his sentence. _Some kind of–_

“Don’t.” James sounds scratchy and hoarse, as if his throat is raw and it’s difficult to swallow. Sirius turns and watches him. “Please don’t.”

“Why?” Sirius nudges James, his fingers catching on the thick denim jeans James is still wearing. He mustn’t have gone to bed yet. “You’re not really telling me you like both, are you?”

James turns to Sirius and he looks as wretched as Sirius has ever seen him. “I don’t know. It’s so fucking confusing. I love Lily.”

“I know.” Sirius sits and squeezes James’s shoulder. He’s not the usual, cocky, confident James Potter that Sirius knows and, unfortunately, loves. He’s hunched into himself and a shiver travels through his body at the gentle pressure of Sirius’s fingers on his shoulder. “You love Lily and I like blokes. It’s fine. It’s all fine.”

“I…” James breaks off and he turns to Sirius, his eyes shining and his cheeks red. “If I’d have _known_ we could have…”

“What?” Sirius raises his eyebrows and tries to ignore the pounding of his heart.

“We could have tried it. Together.” James swallows thickly. “There’s nobody like you.”

“You’re pissed.” Sirius isn’t sure that’s true. Drunk James is cocksure and arrogant, all flailing limbs and _let’s dance under the stars_. He’s tactile and full of hugs that smell divine. He’s not this small shape on the edge of the bed. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what I mean.” James stands, angry now. His cheeks are red and his hair sticks up everywhere as he pulls a hand through it. “I didn’t do that to you. Didn’t ask if you’re _sure_. Didn’t say maybe you just haven’t found the right girl yet. Don’t tell me – don’t fucking _tell me_ what I am.”

“Jamie.” Sirius throws back the duvet and he stands, conscious he’s only in a t-shirt and boxers but needing to get close to James before he starts throwing hexes or something stupid. “I won’t. I won’t tell you. I’m sorry.” He tugs James close and envelops him in a hug as James clutches at his t-shirt. “What can I do?”

James pulls back and the air pulses between them. He licks his lips and his eyes drop to Sirius’s lips. His eyes are red-rimmed and his breath leaves him in shallow puffs. “You can kiss me.”

And, _oh_.

*

Sirius waits a beat too long and it’s enough for James to shove him away.

“Dickhead.” James turns his back to Sirius.

“Don’t be a twat.” Sirius catches James’s arm before he leaves. It’s not because he doesn’t want to kiss James. Sirius wants to spend every fucking waking hour kissing James, and the rest. It’s because he knows it’s not going to end like that. Knows James is still going to want to kiss Lily. He _knows_ because James wants to please his family and he wants to have kids and be a husband and all of those things he can’t have if he chooses Sirius. James isn’t used to being an outcast, not like Sirius is. He’s ballsy and he’s the kind to fight for his friends and demonstrate tenacity and loyalty of spirit, but he’s conservative. Reasonably well-off, settled down with a nice girl and planning the _year from now_ when he leaves Sirius and their stupid, crazy, punch-drunk summers behind. 

“Is it because of Moony?” James stares at Sirius, his eyes flashing and sparking with jealousy.

“No.” Sirius shakes his head. “It’s because I don’t know what the fuck we’re going to do if you like it. What the fuck _you’re_ going to do.”

“Bit up yourself,” James mutters. He pulls a face, but Sirius thinks he gets it. That heavy weight on your chest of having to make that choice which should be so bloody easy. The decision to live as exactly who you are. It’s not easy. It’s hard for Sirius and it would be harder still for James, to say goodbye to the life he’s been planning forever. 

“Not really.” 

The thing is, Sirius is getting used to picking up the signs. Used to deciphering when a wink from across the bar is a genuine _want to come outside with me_ wink and when it’s something malicious, something to be feared. He’s starting to recognise when a lingering touch and a gaze held for a beat too long is a coded signal for something people are still afraid to say out loud even in those safe spaces like the bars in Charing Cross. He thinks James will like it. Thinks there’s a reason he's always thought _what if, what if_ and held those hugs for longer than either of them care to explore.

As he pulls James close and they sink together into a deep, hot kiss, Sirius knows James is going to like it and he suspects it’s the thing that’s going to end up destroying them both.

*

James doesn’t kiss back softly. James kisses like a starving man. It’s not sweet nothings and romantic music in the background. They shove, pull, and push. They grapple with one another’s clothes. James presses a rough palm against Sirius’s cock and they moan together – hot breath in each other’s mouths. The kisses are rough with too much teeth and tongue, panting and cursing and fighting against it even as they give in just that little bit more.

James takes Sirius’s hand. Shoves it to the front of his jeans where his cock strains against the denim. Sirius sucks in a breath and leaves a mark on James’s neck with his teeth as he yanks down the zip and unplucks the button. He pushes James back on the bed and crawls over him, pulling his jeans off and dropping them on the floor. James is so hot. Every inch of James is burning and his chest is already damp with sweat when Sirius pushes his hand underneath the cotton t-shirt. He doesn’t care that James still has his socks on. Terrible, white sporty things pulled up past his ankles. He doesn’t care that James smells musky underneath his armpits because it’s so _male_ and so delicious, Sirius wants to bury his nose there and breathe in the warm scent of him.

He pulls off his own t-shirt and captures James’s lips in another bruising kiss. The sounds are _killing_ him. The unexpected yielding from James and the groans and whimpers as he relaxes onto the bed and hauls Sirius nearer like they can’t be close enough until they’re one body, one skin. It’s never been like this for Sirius before. It’s been rough and angry and sometimes – once – sweet and tender – but it’s never been so all-consuming. Every sense is so finely attuned to James it’s like drowning when they kiss and Sirius never wants to come up for air.

“Want you to fuck me,” James says. He sounds scared and Sirius pulls back for a moment, looking at him. There’s already a purple spot on his neck and a reddish flush which spreads over his chest and up into his cheeks. His lips are plump and slick and he almost doesn’t look like James. Almost doesn’t sound like him. It’s a strange, private thing to see your best friend lost in hazy-eyed pleasure and gasping with need. It’s _brilliant_.

“Steady on.” Sirius chokes back a laugh or a sob, he’s not sure anymore. “We’ve got time.”

“Have we?” James presses into Sirius’s hand, which circles his cock through his pants. The cotton is slightly damp from pre-come and he arches his back as he tries to get closer. “Want it all.”

“I’ll give you everything,” Sirius says. “ _Everything_.” His voice is rough with wanting, thick with emotion. He knows he can’t, is the thing. Knows he can’t give James all those pedestrian things he craves. Knows he can give him sex and love and dark clubs with disco balls, but he can’t give him a hand to hold in the street and the child James keeps going on about like he’s going to be some kind of Quidditch super star. He can’t give him that, but tonight he means to keep his promise and give James whatever he wants, whatever he needs. 

Sirius loves him too damn much to deny him anything.

*

They take their time after that. Sirius strips them both naked and then positions them so he can wank them off slowly, their cocks rubbing together in his slick fist. It’s a lot, watching James like this. A lot, looking into his eyes and gasping out _yes_ and _fuck, so close_ in between biting kisses that fight against the dawn. Sirius wants it to stay dark forever. He wants the night to never end. He wants James sweating and hot-skinned in his bed, open and trusting and so beautiful it makes Sirius want to cry.

They come together and shudder to completion. They stretch out on the sheets, sticky with lube, sweat, and come. They talk, quiet enough that the world outside will never be able to hear all the things they have to say to one another.

When they’re ready to go again, Sirius settles over James. He tongues at the most intimate parts of him until James writhes on the sheets and his sentences are broken and littered with pleas. Sirius slicks his fingers and takes his time. He remembers his own first time and how much he appreciated the care. How much it burns and how strange and intrusive it feels even when every nerve ending gets more sensitive. 

“Please.” James lets his legs fall apart and Sirius slides his fingers out. He positions James’s legs over his shoulders and after slicking his cock he pushes inside. He does it in one push, which has James crying out, bent nearly double as Sirius kisses away his gasp of pleasure and pain. It’s so much—watching James and being watched as they fuck. Sirius doesn’t miss the sharp, salty tang of tears and wonders who cried first. They mingle with sweat and the coppery taste of blood where James bites Sirius’s lip too hard and they have to slow, slow, slow until they’re moving together as one and the kisses are less brutal than before.

When Sirius comes he slides out of James and moves down his body. He takes James’s aching prick in his mouth and lavishes him with every attention. He slides two slick fingers back inside James’s clenching body and seeks out the spot that makes James shout his name like it’s everything that ever mattered. He swallows down every last drop of James’s climax and wipes his fingers on the sheets as he withdraws them slowly from James’s clenching, trembling body. He wipes the back of his mouth with his hand and when James reaches for him, he comes willingly.

When James says, “I think I’m in love with you,” Sirius knows he’s probably broken them both.

**ACT TWO. AUGUST 1979.**

_should have told her that I can't linger_  
_there's a wedding ring on my finger_  
_she's got me, but I'm not free, so_  
_bye bye baby, baby goodbye_  


\- Bay City Rollers, Bye Bye Baby (1975)

Cracks start appearing in Sirius’s day and spread outwards across the surface until everything he’s been trying to hold together for so long falls apart. It’s not just one thing. It’s the little things that mount up into insurmountable piles of _I’ll deal with it later_. The wedding planning that makes him nauseous. The fact he slept until noon after drinking half a bottle of terrible cognac with Peter the previous night. Then there’s the trip to Surrey, which turns everything upside down.

The night is thick with the green remnants of the spells which sliced through the sky like daggers and picked people off one by one. The humid, muggy air and the sweaty stench of battle clings to his robes. By the time Sirius stumbles through the Floo his face is sticky with blood, mud, and tears.

“How many?” James is an unexpected surprise. He moves to Sirius, his voice clipped and his gaze sharply focused.

“Twelve. At least. All Muggles.” Sirius puffs out a breath. Everything hurts. The cloying scent of dying summer flowers follows him through the Floo, mingling with the acrid smell of charred cotton. “I need to go and alert the Order, I just need a moment—”

“You’re not going anywhere.” James extracts his wand and a spell slices through the air. It closes the Floo with a resounding _thud_. Another spell locks the doors and shuts the curtains. It’s like old times, locked in a small flat above Diagon Alley with James Potter looking at Sirius like there’s more to it than _just friends_. “Let someone else deal with it. Someone who hasn’t just _nearly died_.” 

Sirius thinks he used to be stronger and says as much out loud. “I’m not built for this anymore.”

“Don’t be stupid.” James moves closer and Sirius falls into him, breathing him in. He’s cool against Sirius’s burning skin. His fingers do clever things to the knots in Sirius’s muscles and he murmurs the kind of soothing words Sirius really fucking needs right now. That want, the burning inside his chest whenever James is too close is just one of those unexpected things that never quite seems to go away. 

“Where’s Peter?”

“Dunno. He said he had somewhere to be. I got here an hour ago and said I’d wait until you got back.” James keeps up the steady pressure of his fingers on Sirius’s body. He buries his head in the crook of Sirius’s neck and breathes in. His eyelids are damp against Sirius’s skin. “Thought I’d lost you for a minute, there.”

“You didn’t.” Sirius pulls away, even though James’s arms feel like heaven. Perhaps he died after all and this is how it ends. With James and one last heady kiss. He uncorks the bottle of brandy on the side and takes a swig, swiping his hand over his lips. He needs to kill the taste of death with something strong enough to quell the dryness in his throat. “Haven’t seen you for a while.”

“Wedding stuff.” James looks sheepish and he stuffs his hands into his pockets. He’s still so young. How can he be getting married? Sirius can’t even manage not to fuck up his own life, let alone think about a wife and the army of children James no doubt has planned. “I’ve been working with the Order too. I came to the graveyard when—”

“When they buried Reggie.” Sirius nods. “I know.”

“I didn't think anyone saw me.” James frowns. “I came because I thought you might want support.”

“I saw you but I doubt anyone else did. I was hiding too.” Sirius shrugs. “I wasn’t invited. My parents made it clear I wouldn’t be welcome.” Whatever mess Regulus got himself into that resulted in his death, Sirius doesn't know but he remembers his brother before everything went to shit. Remembers the nights Reggie couldn't sleep and Sirius would curl up beside him, reading a book about slaying dragons and defeating monsters until they both fell asleep in a sleep-warm huddle.

“I left flowers at the grave. When everyone left.” 

“I’m sure he appreciated them.” Sirius rolls his eyes. He doesn’t mean to snap at James but it’s _flowers_. James probably doesn’t remember Regulus was allergic to pollen and hated the floral sofas in the living room at Grimmauld Place. The only thing flowers are good for is graves. He wouldn’t have thanked James for them if he was still alive today. He probably wouldn't have thanked either of them for paying their last respects. Sirius's stomach twists and he rubs his eyes, trying to fight back the hot tears which prick and sting.

“You’re still coming to the wedding?” James sounds uncertain.

“I’m still Best Man, aren’t I?” Thoughts of Regulus dissipate and Sirius raises his eyebrows at James. “Got to give you a good send off.”

“Yeah.” James breathes out. “I wondered…”

“Wondered if I might be tempted to stand up and spill your secrets?” Sirius grits his teeth. “No. I’ve done the speech. It’s all Quidditch gags and the bride looks lovely, blah, blah, blah.”

“Okay.” James stares at Sirius. “I just want to fix this.”

“You can’t.” Sirius puts the brandy down, his head pounding again. The last thing he needs is more booze even if the first few slugs gave him some momentary relief. “Fixing _this_ means fixing me.” He gives James a smile – the one that he uses when he’s on the pull. The confident smile that he’s practiced in the mirror. Cocksure and full of false bravado. “I’ll get over you.”

James makes a strangled sound, low in his throat. “I’m not sure I want you to.”

The revelation hangs in the air between them and Sirius reaches for the brandy again.

*

They sit in silence and Sirius drops his head into his hands.

“You get married in one month. We agreed after you got engaged. No more.”

“I know.” James’s voice cracks. “Do you ever think it’s possible to be in love with two people at once?”

Sirius thinks of Remus and those tentative explorations in the shadows of Hogwarts all that time ago. Thinks of his kisses and the day it ended.

_I’m not going to be second best. Not anymore._

“No,” Sirius says. He’s not sure he believes the strength of his own conviction. His stomach twists and he glances at James. “Is this what I’m going to be after all of these years? Just one last fuck before you say goodbye to the single life?”

“Never.” James stares at Sirius. “I’m not here for that.”

“Tell yourself that. I’m going to bed.” Sirius stands and winces at the ache in his bones. 

He strips off and slips between the sheets, leaving the bedroom door open.

*

“We used to put ties on the door.” James leans against the doorframe and Sirius shifts, sitting up in bed and watching him in the darkness.

“We used to do a lot of things we don’t do anymore.” 

“Do you ever think about it?”

Sirius snorts, because if James has to ask he really is an idiot. “No.”

“Liar.” The bed dips and it’s like that first, fateful night all over again when James asked Sirius if he was sleeping and they ended up wrapped in a tangle of limbs, kissing hard enough to bruise and promising to love each other until the sun came up. The light from the moon filters through the cracks in the curtains, framing James in its ethereal light. “I’ve always loved you, Padfoot. Always will.”

Sirius nods, his throat tight. He _knows_. He knows James isn’t a dick, even though Sirius sometimes makes him out to be, in his futile attempt to stop loving him. He knows James doesn’t mean to fuck with Sirius’s heart and head and he knows there’s always going to be more between them than a complicated history. He knows all of that, but it doesn’t make it easier.

“Why are you here, Jamie?” Sirius can hardly speak around the lump in his throat.

“Because,” James says, “I don’t know how to live without you.”

“Good job I’m not going to make you try, then.” 

Sirius holds out his hand and James comes as willingly as he ever has.

*

The marriage takes place in the autumn when the leaves are burnished reds and golds. The apple tart is rich with cinnamon and sultanas and Sirius wonders what kind of magic makes even the food taste like September.

He stands before the crowd and drinks in their hollers, catcalls, and laughs. Glasses clink and the fizz from the champagne reminds Sirius of kissing James for the first time, when their lips were sticky with sweet alcohol and James didn’t know what he was doing but trusted Sirius to show him.

“I’ve always loved you, Jamie.” Sirius holds up his glass and holds James’s eyes in his steady gaze. “Always will.” To everyone else it’s the kind of thing a best friend says to the groom at a wedding. To Sirius it’s a way to remind James that he still remembers the taste of sweat on his skin and the breathless nights that neither of them ever allowed to bleed into morning.

Everyone _awws_ and the music for the first dance draws the crowds away from the table.

When Sirius whispers it again, late that night when nobody else is around, he wraps his arms around James and his voice doesn’t even falter.

They kiss in the shadows. Just once. Desperate, fleeting and impossible.

The kiss tastes like the ghosts of summer.

**ACT THREE. OCTOBER 1981.**

_baby, give me one last_  
_dance while the music still goes on_  
_just like the night I met you_  
_dance and believe me, when you're gone_  
_you know I won't forget you_  
_so dance while the music still goes on_  
_it’s gonna be our last goodbye_  


\- ABBA, Dance (While the Music Still Goes On) (1974)

“Halloween tomorrow,” Sirius says.

“Toffee apples and pumpkins,” James replies. He swallows and he looks away, his face fractured by shadows. “This has to be it. I’ve got to look after Lily and Harry. I can’t do this anymore. It’s not fair. Not fair to anyone.”

“Our last goodbye,” Sirius jokes. He holds out his hand and hums one of those songs. The ones that used to define their summer nights which they found on old wirelesses that still worked even around magic. “Better make it a good one.”

James comes into Sirius’s arms and they breathe one another in, just as they always have. 

“Patchy.”

“Patchouli.” Sirius nuzzles James’s neck and longs to leave a bruise over the bit where his pulse beats the hardest. “Patchouli and socks.”

“Not socks,” James laughs but it sounds forced. It reminds Sirius of broken things.

“No.” Sirius clutches the leather jacket on James’s back in his hands. He breathes in the scent of it and pushes his hands up, under the jacket and under the thin t-shirt beneath. He can feel the bumps of bone, the rise and fall of each part of James’s spine and the heat of his blood and heart, which beats restlessly in his chest. He presses his cold hands against James’s hot skin and lets his lips linger, just in the spot where he smells the most like _Jamie_. “Leather. Leather and summer nights.”

“Nice.” James tips his head and looks at Sirius. His eyes are so bright. He’s so _alive_. “Can we go back to yours? I want…can I fuck you?”

“Yeah.” They haven’t done it like that before, but Sirius wants to. He wants it to be James. Wants to taste the salty perspiration on his skin one last time and sink into the warmth of his arms. “Love me goodbye,” he says.

James sighs and pulls Sirius closer as they sway together under the stars. “Let’s dance this dance first.”

“You got it, Jamie.” Sirius holds James as close as he can and whispers in his ear. “Both of us. Has it always been both of us?”

James shivers in Sirius’s arms and when he speaks his voice cracks in two. “No. It's only ever been you. I've just always been too scared to say it out loud.”

Sirius swallows. He knew. Part of him has always known and he's not sure why tonight, of all nights, he needed to ask. He knows gay and straight and bisexual and everything in between and he knows it can be difficult and complicated, but it’s always been more straightforward with Jamie than Sirius ever allowed himself to dwell on too carefully. Because he knows James. Knows his heart. His hopes. His fears. “Maybe when Harry's older,” he says. “Maybe when it's a different time.”

“Maybe.” James holds Sirius tighter. “I reckon it's written in the stars. Always has been, for me.”

When they break apart, Sirius looks into the sky.

The night is so full of clouds, he can no longer find his star.

_Fin_


End file.
